


babylon has fallen

by rustywrites



Category: Justice (Band)
Genre: EDM - Freeform, Gore, M/M, RPS - Freeform, Zombies, Zombieverse AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-05
Updated: 2011-12-05
Packaged: 2017-10-26 23:33:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/289100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rustywrites/pseuds/rustywrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more; neither shall the sun light on them, nor any heat. God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes.”</p><p>---</p><p>Zombieverse AU Justice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	babylon has fallen

The kiss is not a kiss.

He doesn’t taste the same, Xavier thinks as he feels those blunt, familiar teeth clamp down into his tongue and pull.

And then he can’t taste anything at all, not even the blood that’s threatening to suffocate him in rushing pulses. Something in the back of his mind tells him that he’s in a great deal of pain but he’s still smiling.

Gaspard’s eyes are wild and close and maybe he could be smiling, too, but something about the scraps of tongue clinging to his lips and the red smeared around his mouth make it difficult to think. The sounds he’s making aren’t words.

Cold, strong hands dig into his shoulders and he feels his bones start to strain in protest and his ears ring and suddenly those teeth are buried in him again, tearing away at his neck like it’s made of rubber.

The loss of his tongue and the roar of noise from everywhere make it impossible to speak so he doesn’t bother. He doesn’t need to say anything that Gaspard doesn’t already know.

It doesn’t hurt anymore.

–

It’s been 22 days.

Or maybe it’s been months. Or minutes. Or seconds.

His head is swimming with infection, not the kind that makes you start to walk after you stop. The kind that comes from open wounds and blood loss and dirt in the air. His left arm from the elbow down is missing but he can still feel it, like a ghost.

His veins are so pronounced under his skin and he’s gone kind of yellowgreen and it makes him smile a little because maybe he’s like Gaspard now, maybe they’re one and the same again.

Across the room he can see him in the dim light, crouched down like an animal, tearing what little flesh is left on the bone with his mouth.

The chain is bolted down securely to the floor; he feels a rush of delirious hope and satisfaction as it starts to rattle and strain. Gaspard struggles to reach for him, desperately pulling his restraints taut.

Xavier smiles, soft and warm. “I love you.” He means it.

Gaspard screams a desperate, raw scream in return. Nothing can make that screaming end. Nothing he gives seems to help-

Then, suddenly, he knows what he has to do. He knows how to save them.

Xavier thinks about Job and about the Devil.

He thinks about rebirth and resurrection.

–

It’s been 19 days.

The blade is harder to saw through his finger than he thought it would be. He bites down on a leather belt to keep himself from crying out. Gaspard does enough of that for both of them, with screams and growls and moans that pour out of his ruined throat without end.

His vision is swimming but finally the blade thunks into the wood of the table and his index finger is separated from his hand. There is less blood than he would have though. The veins and arteries suction closed the moment they’re exposed to the stale air. He picks it up and tosses it to the corner where Gaspard is chained. It doesn’t feel like a part of him anymore. Something foreign and far away. Still, when the bone splinters and cracks under Gaspard’s nails and teeth and tongue, he feels himself swell with a certain amount of joy.

“I’m sorry it’s not much,” Gaspard stares at him and Xavier feels his voice start to crack and he’s not sure why until he realizes that he is crying, “I’m sorry.”

He prays.

–

It’s been 17 days.

As he digs the knife into his thigh, he thinks about Shakespeare. He thinks about art and theatre and civilization.

He’s always been so skinny, he doesn’t have much flesh to give, but they must all make sacrifices in times of need. Gaspard’s eyes are wild and his hands and mouth are working at nothing. His skin has gone so grey, breaking in welts and sores all over.

Xavier still thinks Gaspard is beautiful. He thinks about plagues and biblical wrath.

The strip of meat splatters on the ground within Gaspard’s reach after he tosses it, and Gaspard tears into it in a frenzy.

–

It’s been 14 days.

The stranger falls to the ground, limp and lifeless as the bullet explodes from the back of his head and Xavier watches, stone faced.

It’s a struggle to drag the corpse back into the house but he manages.

The sound and the stench is overwhelming as Gaspard tears into it, strewing organs and torn skin all over the floor.

Xavier sinks to his knees and vomits, bracing his hands before him on the ground.

He cannot bring himself to kill again.

He thinks about sacrifice and justice. He thinks about Abraham.

–

It’s been 12 days.

Gaspard’s struggles have grown more desperate, more saturated with pain and agony and Xavier can no longer bear to hear them. He’s seen those things (no no, not things, they are people, they are people, Gaspard is a person) on the streets eating each other, eating living things with such voracity. He knows what Gaspard wants, what is driving him.

Briefly, he considers venturing out, locking the door of the little house behind them and finding some poor hopeless stranger on the street. Shooting him and dragging his corpse back. Maybe it would make Gaspard happy, maybe it would ease his pain.

For a wild moment, he eyes the set of guns propped against the wall.

It would be so easy.

He reaches up to coil his fingers around the cross that hangs from his neck and he remembers life before.

He thinks about the sound of Gaspard’s laugh and the brightness of his smile.

In the darkness surrounding them, the wails become less and less human.

–

It’s been 9 days.

The virus has taken hold and Xavier has never felt more alone and more without hope.

The chain he had bolted into the floor seems to hold but there’s little comfort in as he watches the links dig into Gaspard’s throat. Purple black bruises blossom under it. He pleads until his voice is raw, he prays until he cannot think of any more words to say.

He has spent the greater part of his life telling people to have faith. For the first time, he feels his own failing.

He thinks about Heaven and Hell.

And the lord giveth and he taketh away.

–

It’s been 5 days.

Gaspard’s skin has gone from being very very hot to very cold. He has not opened his eyes for hours. The angry gore of the bite wound on his arm has spread into a sickly orange miasma across his skin that continues to grow no matter how frantically Xavier tries to clean it out.

The infection is ravenous and brutal.

He spends the next several hours installing a chain into the corner of the room, bolting it to the concrete with whatever tool he can find. His calloused hands split and bleed.

He thinks about blood and about how it carries disease.

That night, he kneels beside the bed and weaves their fingers together.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, for thou art with me.

–

It’s been 2 days.

Xavier can’t remember if he has stopped crying since. His head is throbbing and his vision is cloudy with panic and denial.

They would be okay, the bite was not that deep. It would be fine.

Gaspard’s smile is soft and sweet as he trails the back of his hand along Xavier’s cheek. He is apologizing over and over and Xavier tells him to shut up, shut up he is wrong, shut up shut up shut up.

Gaspard laughs and it turns into a cough. Flecks of blood dust his lips.

“I love you so much please don’t ever forget that.”

“I won’t. I can’t. I love you too.”

Xavier thinks about sunsets and splashes of color.

–

Today.

It was an ambush.

Xavier’s hands and shoulders are stinging with recoil as he fires over and over and over again. The shambling things are surrounding him. He screams for help.

Gaspard’s arm coils around his shoulders and he is being pulled backwards. They break into a run and the world becomes a blur.

A bullet strikes a propane tank; an explosion cracks through the air and Gaspard’s body coils around his, like a shield.

They collapse to the ground with the force of the shock as hot air and debris wash over them.

Behind them, the dead things have become fumbling husks of melted flesh and bone, still twitching and gasping against the pavement.

Xavier pries himself up and cold, sharp dread floods him and he cannot tell if his ears are ringing from the explosion or from fear.

He clutches Gaspard’s shoulders, pleading. “Wake up, wake up, wake up.”

Gaspard opens his eyes after a moment and the first thing he says is, “I’m sorry.”

Xavier does not understand until he holds up his arm. The wound is clear and ominous.

–

Yesterday.

The Vincent Black Shadow purrs and vibrates against his legs as he coils his arms just a little tighter around Gaspard’s waist; leans his head against his shoulder. They are speeding down the empty streets and the sun is just beginning to set on the horizon, spilling color against the clouds. Even in these dark times, there is still beauty and grace to be found.

He presses a kiss into the side of Gaspard’s neck. The roar of the engine is too loud for them to speak so he doesn’t bother. He doesn’t need to say anything that Gaspard doesn’t already know.

The world may have come to an end but in moments like this, the future seems bright.

He thinks about hope.


End file.
